It is now Jomier’s turn to talk about his children. He orders another half-pint of Cobra beer. What can he say? On the surface at least his children seem to have been unaffected by the divorce. He tells her about Henry and Sandra and Samantha and Ned. He tells her about Louisa and Jimmy and the five grandchildren he rarely sees – Fernando, Roberto, Laura (‘Lala’), Maria-Annunziata (‘Nunci’) and little Ysabel.

‘Five children!’ exclaims Judith.

‘There’s more space in Argentina,’ says Jomier.

Judith: ‘All the same!’

A whiff of political correctness? But also a whiff of musky scent as Judith leans forward to offer Jomier the last spoonful of brinjal bhaji from the oval metal dish. He declines. She takes it herself. A healthy appetite.

‘I don’t see them very much. And their grandmother is Catholic,’ says Jomier as if this explains his failure to put a brake on this overpopulation of the world.

The moment of irritation has passed. The wrinkled skin on Judith’s forehead is now smooth again. The cloud of disapproval that had appeared in her expression at hearing of Jomier’s five Argentinian grandchildren is burned off by a warm smile. ‘When all is said and done,’ she says, ‘one does one’s best for one’s children within the limits of the possible.’

Jomier agrees.

‘Of course divorce is a trauma for children but if I had stayed with Beresford I would have become clinically depressed and now Ophelia would be blaming that for the collapse of her marriage.’

‘Almost certainly.’

‘There comes a time when children have to take responsibility for their own lives, don’t you think?’

‘I do.’

‘And move on, psychologically.’

‘Of course.’

‘She’s nearly forty, after all.’

‘That’s hard to believe.’

‘I married young.’

‘People must take you for sisters?’

‘It has happened. And it didn’t help.’